


Devil's Backbone

by singasongofdestiel



Category: Supernatural, The Civil Wars (Band)
Genre: Angst, Devil's Backbone, Ficlet, Light Angst, M/M, Oneshot, Prayer, Season/Series 04, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-23 10:52:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3765427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singasongofdestiel/pseuds/singasongofdestiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel seeks advice from his Father. He has found something that makes him question his orders, something worth falling for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devil's Backbone

**Author's Note:**

> You can find the song here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yUMiEkMjtOQ

Cas stared up at the sunlight falling through the branches, he could never stop himself from marvelling at the endless beauty of God's creation. The secluded spot where he sat was an excellent example of this beauty. The late morning light brushed fingertips with the damp forest air, a handshake between the scent of living and the promise of rebirth. Apart from a small flock of waterfowl taking flight, there was no movement.

 

He rubbed his hands against each other, swallowing the whispers that told him not to do this. He raised his eyes to the heavens and spoke. "Oh Lord." His voice was rough to his ears, abrading the tranquility around him. "Oh Lord, what have I done?"

The empty sky offered nothing but scrutiny. He lowered his head in shame, for he deserved such reproach. An angel was not meant to do the things he had done, to feel what he felt. For Castiel— an angel of the Lord, a soldier with a mission— feeling at all was against his job description. He knew what he had done and the weight of repentance marked all his actions.

 

Castiel had fallen in love with a man on the run. A man who had already been to Hell. A man who was meant to be an archangel's vessel, nothing more. Yet the thought of giving Michael his rightful body filled Castiel's entire being with burning static. "Lord, I know that You are great and merciful, and You have had all things planned from the beginning. I am nothing but a loyal follower. But, I am begging You..." His eyes stared at the ants marching across the cracks in the soil, following each other precisely to reach their shared goal. "I'm begging You, please, don't take that sinner from me."

The rasping need in his voice was ridiculous; he was in no position to make requests. Nor did he have what he was requesting to keep in the first place— Dean was nothing if not unavailable. A lifetime spent on the road, cradled in the arms of whiskey and gunpowder, had not produced to a man who could be wooed by an angel. Castiel wouldn't know where to start anyway. The hunter was nothing like his God, a valley of sin hidden underlying each shaking exhale and muttered curse.

Yet the Lord had created all that was beautiful in this world, Dean included. Everything a strand of the masterful tapestry, the grand plan. That freckled and scarred skin was merely one star among the constellations of God's works. And yet, Castiel, oh, Castiel just wanted to take him somewhere safe, his own heaven. A word unusual to his vocabulary trickled into mind whenever he thought of Dean.

 Home.

 

It wasn't as if Dean's choices weren't founded in a certain kind of reason. His actions were easily traced back to the knife that tore into his brother. Castiel hadn't originally comprehended why one would exchange one’s soul for another’s and knowingly cast oneself into perdition. Now the edge of understanding tugged at his throat, a swelling of compassion that forced him to speak again. "Lord, there wasn't a right or a wrong path for him to choose. He did what he had to do."

A cold reason sliced along the tip of his tongue and he caught it just as it expired. He, too, would do what he had to do. 

"Give me the burden, give me the blame. I'll shoulder his load." A cloud stole away the tentative warmth of the sun and he half expected to experience Heaven’s wrath then and there. When nothing more happened, he closed his eyes in silent thanks.

He had no clue how to take up this task; he was struggling to swallow the shame of his own failure. This was more than any number of Hail Marys could fix.

Thoughts of the man he was doing this for forced themselves to the forefront of his mind. Since their meeting, Dean had had a habit of entering his brain at the most unwelcome of times. Each detail of his movements scarred the insides of Castiel’s eyelids, the lightning clench of his fists and the thunder across his brow had become almost holy to Castiel. The bitterness and rebellion that surged in this human were nearly enough to drag the angel down. The sharp edge of idolatry was blunted, laced with green eyes.

Blasphemy fit Dean like his old leather jacket, and was a mantle easily passed on. The worship that had been Castiel's being fell to the feet of a gun-toting heathen. He didn't care, anymore, about guilt. Dean was good, and bad, and all that Cas had in the world.

Of all the Lord's most wondrous works, there was only one that could reduce an angel to begging.

A repeated plea to his absent Father was the final ripple in the blanketing silence of beauty that hung like fog over the landscape. Harsh words drenched with regret and intoxicated by longing. "Don't take this sinner from me."

If only the sinner were his.


End file.
